I have to drive to the airport this morning. I'm dropping off son #2 to go visit son #1, and I need to dump him by 6:00 a.m. at the curb of Terminal C at Boston's Logan Airport. Otherwise he may be late to check in for his flight, and I will be late to work.
The drive in to the city isn't completely without its trauma. Traffic starts to back up around route 128, a major tech thoroughfare. If this isn't frustrating enough, we come to a sudden and extremely dangerous stop around Somerville while tooling along I-93, which isn't so bad except the driver behind us is paying zero attention and ends up sideways in the breakdown lane to avoid plowing into the back of my car. (FYI - Had he hit me, I'd have crawled from the wreckage to kill him for making my son miss his flight.)
After dumping my boy unceremoniously in the "don't stop here" zone of the airport, I head toward the exit. Now, I really do know how to get out of the airport. I made this trip twice already this summer without incident. For some stupid reason this morning, I get in the wrong lane, go through the wrong tunnel, and start heading south instead of north toward work.
No problem. I have GPS. I figure I'll just turn around somewhere or get off at the nearest exit. Really. I mean, Government Center at 5:57 a.m. -- how bad can it be? I'm still in Boston, and I'm not stuck in commuter traffic coming north into the city. Seriously. That part of the expressway backs up even on a slow Sunday in summer.
My GPS, set to Scottish comedian Billy Connolly, leads me through the mostly-deserted streets of the business district. Take a left. Stay right. At the end of the road, take a left...
Suddenly, I see it. I'm facing Jerry Remy's restaurant. I've never been here, but this place is a tourist trap extraordinaire, and I've walked by it hundreds of times.
Hot damn! I know where I am, and, even better, I know how to get to 93 north. I've even made this drive with a few drinks in me after the Harpoon Brewery Oktoberfest. I should be able to pull this off sober in the ebbing darkness of early winter morning.
I arrive at work at 6:27. I know the fob for the door won't work until 6:30, so I listen to the radio until 6:34 then walk over to the middle school teacher entrance.
Locked. LOCKED. Damnit. Even work doesn't want me to take the direct route.
I trudge all the way over to the high school entrance, reasonably certain that it will be open since it's largely an unsecured, unlocked, "come in, anybody and everybody, as our staff and students are sitting ducks" kind of door and walk in without a single hesitation.
A near miss, a trip to the airport, a brief tour of the tunnel through Southie, a lovely jaunt through the outskirts of Government Center, a sightseeing tour of the Seaport district, over the bridge, a lock-out from my employers, and still I manage to be to work on time and ready to start the day. It seems like way more work than it needs to be, but, hey, I'm not stupid.
Oh, all right -- I go south instead of north. Go ahead and laugh. Maybe I'm a little bit stupid, but it all works out in the end.
